


Give Up the Thing That You Love

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: From the newly released The Lost Boys Volume One GTA V Fanzine!I'm not what's missingFrom your life nowI could never be the puzzle pieces
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Give Up the Thing That You Love

**Author's Note:**

> Remember me mentioning that I was busy working on a huge-ass GTA V Fanzine project with a friend and a bunch of kickass writers and artists? Well, it's out!! Go grab it! 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1wuK7xUDkj4vioR6lWT3eqaeelOHmMwv3
> 
> The title and lyrics come from Pitseleh, a song by Elliott Smith.

_The first time I saw you_

_I knew it would never last_

_I’m not half what I wish I was_

_I’m so angry_

_I don’t think it’ll ever pass_

_And I was bad news for you just because_

_I never meant to hurt you_

Summer always ended just as quickly as it came that far up north in the States, signaling the approaching change of seasons and colder weather with it. He hunched on the hood of the car facing towards the lake, knees bent towards his face, and his chin rested gently on top of them. He was deep in thought about how many years had already passed since he’d met the man who was going to become one of the greatest thieves of the century, he just knew it. Hell, they were well on their way -- all of them. 

He knew it because Michael Townley had stolen his heart long ago and refused to give it back ever since. 

The sky turned a deep angry red while he fiddled with some healed scabs, tearing the skin and watching the fresh blood pool with a sort of mixed fascination that he saved generally for hunting or shooting people while on the job. His mind drifted back to the first time he’d ever laid two anxious eyes on a dusty cloud of destruction coming towards him at the hanger, and he felt the wave of familiar emotions tug at his heart again. 

A sea of happiness, misery, love, rage, confusion, want, and something close to a sort of boyish innocence coasted and crashed inside the walls of his mind. It was a terrifying body of emotions to him. He understood rage, confusion, misery, and want independently of each other, but _every_ single thing and _all together_ at once? He felt as if he were slowly drowning in his head. There was nowhere safe to pull himself up and out of the mess. 

So he just kept sinking. 

He focused on the lake before him and pictured himself slipping beneath the surface of the cool water, the bottom forever being just out of his reach, and his breath coming in slower, agonizing gasps until his throat closed as if he were the one at the helm doing the choking.

And he could see himself doing it; a darker, older, more sadistic copy of him tightening his grip on the muscles, tendons, and ligaments while feeling them whine and pop miserably against his hands, smiling viciously and victoriously into a young, still slightly innocent doe-eyed version of himself in one of the many dresses his mother had made him wear as a boy, not understanding what was happening to him but maybe smiling warmly back because even then he had welcomed what was at the end of that sweet feeling of death’s release though he’d had a healthy dose of fear in him for it.

He wouldn’t have been mad at all. He would’ve been _thankful_. 

But right now, he was on the hood of a car doing nothing but contemplating shit which was nothing at all, really. He felt like he was going nowhere with his life. 

When he met Michael, it was supposed to have been the both of them, in his mind, balls against the wall. Doing whatever they could to have fun and making a buck while doing so. That’s what it had been for him. Mikey had been all about The Big Picture, drafting plans, determining futures, and putting stock in all of that while he had just been along for the amusement of it all. 

He’d only wanted to watch Michael work his magic because he was so damn remarkable at what he did, and there was a fucking drop-dead sexiness in the way that he carried himself, the slickness that he had, the self-assuredness that he just _knew_ everything was going to turn out right because he’d worked things from every imaginable angle, and he _had_ because that’s where having been a quarterback and team captain previously had come in pretty fucking handy. 

God, he could be forever happy doing things to that man with his body. 

Life had other plans. Michael had other plans. He met Amanda one rainy day when they had some time between jobs to fuck around at the local titty bar. She was more thrilled to talk to _any_ one of them other than Michael to the point that it nearly made him choke with laughter at poor Mikey’s obvious displeasure that he begged and sent her towards his floundering buddy after loading her hand with a few twenties, asking her to “be kind” and “let him think he’s a lady’s man.” 

However, somewhere in the midst of all of that goodnatured ribbing, she’d actually begun to like Michael, and well, he’d never planned on that happening, so he had waited for it to end all the way up until the fateful day Mikey had come barreling into Lester’s house while they were shooting the shit during the early planning stages of the _next big thing_ and had nearly screamed his lungs out that he wasn’t ready to be a fucking father, but he had to marry Amanda. He’d honestly looked for it to end then, and when he was asked to be the best man, his heart had sunk. 

How does one say no to their best friend? How does one tell him that it’s impossible to be there? That they can’t watch him get married because the pain is a knife stabbing and twisting into their own heart?

He hadn’t been able to trust his mouth to make the words, so he’d had to merely nod while biting his lip from the inside. And he kept biting and biting so hard that by the time Michael moved away, he was tasting blood. 

So he’d swallowed his feelings hoping they would fall somewhere into the mighty sea that was his mind and drown, but it never happened. 

Then little Tracey -- who had almost been named little Trevor and was still a sore point with the lovely fake-titted Amanda -- had come cooing into his arms and life, eyes full of the same teary blue as her father and wonder at him as she gazed upwards, and he hadn’t wanted to put her down. He promised himself that he would never let anything happen to that cute face, and when her brother came after her, he made the same promise again. These were his makeshift family of the likes which he never spoke to Michael for fear and embarrassment that his friend would never quite understand his affection for those kids, but Amanda, oh she sure got it. She got it just fine, and she didn’t like it. 

She did everything she could to push him out, even being in her husband’s ear like a little worm. 

And he knew -- he _knew_ \-- it was only a matter of time before Michael finally sat and processed through shit so he could do the inevitable partner dumping, and that’s why he was out there currently, thinking things through. Carefully processing. Whatever fucking pretty label there was to stick to cutting someone out of your life. 

He’d fucked up a few nights ago. Massively. 

They hadn’t even had but a few beers and maybe a couple of shots, him with some gold tequila, salt, and lime because he was feeling a little advantageous at the time for whatever reason he couldn’t recall anymore, and they had been cutting up over something stupid Brad had done during a job when something had changed. He wasn’t even sure what it was or where or when or even why, but Michael had just _looked_ at him, and something had changed in their chemistry. His cheeks had reddened as they’d stared at each other, and Trevor had thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but he had accidentally said it out loud. 

Their lips had met in the stall of that men’s bathroom as if they had been starved while waiting to meet for years. 

His hands had easily found their way to the zipper of his best friend’s jeans and had listened for any telltale signs that said it needed to stop but had only heard the slight intake of breath, gasping he had guessed, but it wasn’t anything that had said “no” so he’d went on. He hadn’t dared to look Michael in the eyes until his cock was snuggled inside of his mouth, and when he had glanced up, what he had found waiting for him had made his heart ache all the more.

Michael’s eyes were a bitter war of blue emotions, but the one that had stood out the most was love. On some level, he loved Trevor as Trevor loved him. All these wasted years. And that had hurt, hurt to the fucking core. 

So he had shown him what he had missed. He’d only ever let one guy dare to touch him _there_ , and that guy had ended up with a hockey stick crammed up his dumb fat ass. He usually did the fucking, but with Michael, somehow, it was all butterflies and idolatry, and Michael took the lead as he did with all things. And Trevor was OK with letting him because it just felt natural. 

_Goddamn_ had it felt natural. It had felt absolutely spectacular with Michael. They’d fumbled like fucking virgins on prom night, but somehow Mikey had made it feel great, and Christ, it had been _every fucking thing_ he’d ever imagined it to be while he was jerking off, dreaming, or a combination of the two. 

Then post-orgasmic rush, they’d clung to each other, and he’d announced like a fucking idiot that he’d been in love with the other man since they’d met so many years prior, but he’d never had the balls to tell him, and he’d never had any idea that Michael was even remotely into this sort of thing. 

And his buddy had just looked down at the floor aimlessly with a weird glint in his eyes and had called it all “harmless fun.”

Harmless fun. He, Trevor Philips, was just a _harmless fun fuck_. No better than a former stripping whore with fake plastic tits or her currently stripping whore sisters. 

That is why he sat on the hood of the car, trying to gauge the situation and his emotions. What the fuck was he? Why had he allowed it to come to this? Why had he allowed himself to think with his fucking dick? Every time he let it do the talking, he ended up in trouble, and he really needed to stop doing that shit. 

Fuck knew he was angry and confused, at Michael for closing himself off so soon right afterward, and at himself for even being so stupid to fall into such a trap in the first damn place. He had to stop letting booze be his gateway to these nasty truthful pitfalls. 

Sadness, pain, and misery all came at once. Why? Jesus Christ, why did it have to hurt so much and right in the fucking chest? The only other people he’d ever let himself love were family, and after this, he’d cut his fool heart out and eat it before he’d _ever_ love again. Never. _Never ever_. 

Tires crushed along the gravel, and he didn’t even have to glance back to know to whom that car belonged. He just knew, knew he’d come for him just like he always came for him during the rain of bullets or the onslaught of sirens. 

And underneath everything else, he still felt love. Love for the best friend who obviously loved him too but couldn’t say it back. 

“Hey, T.”

“Hey, yourself.” He almost said, “Hey, asshole!” or some other combination of hey something-nasty because he was hurting and wanted to lash out, but he stopped himself because Mikey didn’t deserve that shit. It wasn’t his fault that _someone_ couldn’t keep himself in check, on a course originally charted all those years ago. 

Their conversation started out awkward, and they talked about the events of a few nights ago, what Trevor kept referring to as The Big Mistake -- until Michael firmly but lovingly told him to shut the fuck up about it like that or _so help him_.

Everything in the atmosphere definitely changed between them, with Michael taking longer, more pensive looks while they sat through the rest of the evening discussing things. His brooding stares now seemed reserved for Trevor when those had previously been the place of his parents, his dead football career, his wife, bills, and OK, so _sometimes_ maybe Trevor. But still, he couldn’t handle any of it being directed at him. He just wanted Michael to be happy. 

He just wanted his best friend back at the cost of his own soul. 

But God, it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He fucking hated himself and everything in the entire world. He just wanted to watch it burn red and orange like the fading sunset. 

While Michael was busy rubbing his elbows anxiously and mumbling about something the kids had done at school -- Jesus, when had his babies gotten so big -- he swung his legs off the car, stood up, and focused intently on Michael’s face as if he were committing it to memory. Then he nodded to himself and clapped his hands loudly, the latter scaring Michael back to reality. 

“What the fuck was that for? Are you crazy?? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Michael,” he called softly, and his friend stopped and stared, “it’s OK. I release you. You don’t need to come and check on me, I’ll be alright.”

“Release me?” Michael half-laughed, half-choked out as he slid down off the car and followed Trevor, something he did out of habit, and Trevor wasn’t sure if he realized he did it or not. “Release me from _what_??” 

His hand was on the door latch. It would be so easy to just go, to drive, and say nothing, but he knew he’d be followed because that’s what Michael did. That’s one of the things that he loved about the man. Sometimes he cared too much. 

So he turned. “I love you, Michael, but I can’t go on _loving_ you. It’s hurting me, and it’s going to hurt you. I don’t mean to hurt you. I’m a shitty friend.” He smiled, but it cracked halfway through. “I give you up.”

Realization dawned in Michael’s stormy eyes, and he grabbed Trevor to pull him close, kissed him as they had done that day in the bathroom, but it was a different sort of desperation, and when it was over, tears were streaming down his face like rain. 

Trevor got in the car and pulled away from the lake. For the first time in many years, it was the first time he could remember where Michael didn’t follow, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. It was a whole new emotion for which he didn’t have a name yet, but it was something different.


End file.
